


Therapy

by CleaveTheClover (Chasing_Gumdrops)



Category: VALORANT (Video Game)
Genre: Armchair Therapy, Conflict of Interests, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secrets, Talking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, ah yes we acheeve helth, i mean but look at that word count, mentioned PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chasing_Gumdrops/pseuds/CleaveTheClover
Summary: Being in a warzone takes a toll on the mental health of the Agents. Valorant hires a therapist to help them out.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	1. Jett-01

Oh, she was young. The Therapist was taken aback: how had the Protocol come to recruit someone barely more than seventeen? Was that either legal or ethical? 

She squirmed as she sat in the chair, obviously uncomfortable with being forced to come. That was alright, many people (especially veterans of war) were hesitant in similar ways. No matter, she would likely get used to the rhythm of therapy soon. 

The first thing to do was to ask a few general questions about mental health. No symptoms of depression or PTSD, other than some jumpiness at loud noises and nightmares. No feelings of hopelessness, of anxiety. She seemed very sure of herself and her status here. 

Next was how often she’d like her appointments to be. 

“If I could choose? How about never.” 

“That’s not why I was hired, Jett.” 

She huffed. “Once a month?” 

“For the first two weeks I will be seeing everyone twice a week. This is just to figure out where people are at initially, to get a better gauge of what their experiences and needs are. But after that, once a month is permissible, provided I deem it suitable.” 

“Twice a week? Alright, fine, that’s only two hours.” 

The Therapist nodded, making a note on her patient file. Now, the last piece was to discuss this little girl’s backstory. How long had she been a part of Valorant, and was this her first experience with active combat? What did she see and hope to achieve in joining, and had she achieved those goals? Had she learned anything that she hadn’t expected to? 

Two years, and yes. She had joined to escape from Kingdom, who was hunting her down for stealing a Spike in Venice. (She was to deliver the prize to Reyna, who wanted to start a Radiant insurrection and needed the spike to do it. Reyna was recruited not long after Jett was, but was more hesitant to do so because she would be forced to work alongside non-Radiant tech users.) 

Considering that she was still alive, that meant her goal had been achieved quite well. As for what she’d learned, well, obviously how to use a gun that wasn’t a pistol. Better control of her wind abilities. A few other battle- and strategy-related tips and tricks. 

The Therapist closed the notebook they were holding. “Fantastic. That’s all I needed for today. You are free to go.” 

“Wait, really?” she propelled herself an inch or so up in the air with her surprise. “Sick! Now I can go bully Phoenix for owing me ramen.” 


	2. Brimstone-01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brimstone gets right to the point, just as the Therapist likes.

“Given your status as Captain I’d assume you had some experience with wartime before becoming part of Valorant.” The Therapist started out point-blank. 

“Yeah. Sergeant in the United States Army. Was sent to hunt down Radiants in Italy, but pretty soon I realized how wrong it all was. Chasing children and innocent adults for things they couldn’t help.” 

A nod came from the counsellor. There was a case like this before, long ago, from a police officer who worked alongside viciously racist colleagues in a low-income community. But this Brimstone was an entirely separate case. “I see. And how has this service impacted your mental health and well-being?” 

“Well, I developed PTSD and went through a couple episodes of Major Depression. I take meds for that first one, so it’s not as crippling as it was before, but well, it’s PTSD. Shit’s rough as hell.” The droop in his voice was accompanied by a shake of the head. 

The Therapist made some scribbles on the patient file. Indeed, his prescription for antidepressants was noted at the bottom of the first page. “Do you think that being in the Protocol has made such a condition worse?” 

“Doesn’t make it better, but doesn’t really make it worse.” The Captain shrugged. “It’s still a battlefield, and I’m still killing Radiants-- but at least these are expendable clones, bred to die, and not victims of baseless persecution.” 

“Please elaborate on these clones. Who are these clones of? What purpose do they serve?” 

The Captain sighed heavily, hunching over in his chair. The summary he provided made little sense, with many contextual clues missing, but the gist was there. Kingdom had taken DNA samples of the Agents, and attempted to use them to visibly confuse and logically outsmart said Agents. An interesting strategy, but effective, the two in the room agreed. 

“I see. Thank you for sharing this information with me.” The Therapist made a couple more notes, musing. Brimstone was much more open about himself than Jett was, but considering his prescription, it was likely that he’d seen psychologists and psychiatrists and before. His methods were efficient and honest, which would make treating him a very smooth process. “I have a few more questions to ask you.” 

“Shoot.” 

He was then subject to the same series of questions as Jett had been, some reworded or omitted some of them so the man needed not repeat himself. He talked quite a bit about the dilemmas of killing innocent people under the orders that he was following, which was evidently a layered and meaty topic that would take several appointments to work through. He’d founded the Protocol to fight for the Radiants instead of killing them, for starters. 

As for what he’d learned, he intoned that working with a rebellious group of straggling Radiants was both the exact same as and the polar opposite of his command post in the Army. Radiants were risker, took orders less, and cared little for their own lives due to the knowledge that they could simply be healed or revived by Sage and Skye. But they all still put victory as the highest priority, were still just as careful and methodical as his previous recruits were, and wore that same masked anxiety upon entering the battlefield. 

Oh, the youth of the new recruits. Refreshing and terrifying all in one.

Once his appointment was finished, he thanked the Therapist for their time and departed with respectful grace. His appointments would be once every two weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah two chapters in the same day??   
> yeah, I have no life, but since these are short chapters it's fairly easy to just crank them out haha


	3. Cypher-01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cypher woke up and chose violence

“Welcome. Please have a seat.”

There was a small staring contest. His mask excellently hid his facial expressions, but the Therapist had the inkling that they were just as deadpan and opaque as the rest of his body language. Well, he did have a reputation as the secretive information broker, so this was no surprise. 

“For our first appointment I would like to get to know you a bit. How long have you been a part of Valorant, and is this your first experience with active combat?” 

“Two years, three months. No.” 

“What was your past experience like?” 

He did not answer immediately. “This topic makes me uncomfortable. I’d prefer not to talk about it.” 

“That’s alright. I don’t expect to talk about everything at once on the first day, these are just some diagnostic questions.” the Therapist answered with a warm calm, mentally noting the ease with which he entirely evaded the question. Like that first young girl, he seemed uncomfortable at the prospect of therapy, but it was already apparent that he’d be a much tougher nut to crack. “Without breaching your privacy too much, why did you join this organization?” 

“Revenge.” 

“Revenge?” 

The man said nothing, giving no opportunity to pry. He did not look ashamed of his statement, but did not look proud either. His legs were elegantly crossed, hands laced and neatly placed precisely three-quarters down the length of the topmost thigh. 

Another staring contest; he did not yield. The brim of his hat was angled in an ever-so-slightly intimidating angle, triangular shape almost obscuring the bionic blue of his cybernetic eyes. No joint or digit moved as unresolved tension hovered in the air. 

What perfect control. 

No, this man was not apprehensive, not like Jett was. There was a cool regard for the Therapist that showed he was not afraid, not at all, because he knew how to game the system. He knew exactly how to ensure that they’d learn nothing at all. Despite being only the respondent, he’d perfectly harnessed the conversation. Clever, very clever. 

... and annoying. Very annoying. Lies and truth would be impossible to discern with this one. 

Waiting for a response, the Therapist put their pen to the paper, scribbling. _Do not trust him_.

Hearing nothing, the counsellor folded and proceeded to the next question. “Do you believe that you’re doing the right thing? By being in this organization?” 

“I care little for moral ground, Dr. [__].” He said lightly yet with an unmistakable contempt. 

Immediate rebuttal, no hesitation. This sentence was copied down verbatim, just under the note about scarce trust. Oh, the Therapist could already feel the lies seething under his skin, just waiting to poison them. “Now why is that?”

Again they looked up to find the statue-like figure sitting before them, uncannily still and silent. Oh, the nerve of him. Simply introducing possible information but then dangling it just beyond reach, weaving a labyrinth of half-truths and omission. 

Most people respond to silence. Shift their posture, say something (anything) to fill the gap. Not him. Not this one. The commitment to his blank-faced act was strong, unshakable even. Nothing beyond what he wanted known would ever be known, that was for sure. 

The Therapist wordlessly glanced at the patient sheet once again, ignoring the horror slithering in the air around them, searching for a different question. Perhaps something less personal would do the trick. But impersonal questions didn't exist in therapy, did they? 

Cypher waited, patiently and emotionlessly. 

A few pages were flipped: it was now time to discuss symptoms of various health issues. He was obviously lying, producing a long series of no’s that definitely did not explain his overly guarded and distrusting demeanor, as well as (the possible-yet-very-likely trauma behind) his desire for revenge. But the frustrations went further, directly inhibiting to the counsellor’s work. For some of the more outlandish symptoms he gave a simple “perhaps,” then refused to elaborate on severity. Any similar or repeated questions yielded different answers, but gave no explanations for the discrepancies. By the end of the session, his patient file was filled with an indecipherable series of check-marks and ex-marks, all hastily written beside and atop each other in a storm of ink. What a perfect way to cover one's own tracks. 

He was simply a nightmare patient. 

Well, if he never cared for moral ground, then he'd never care about the consequences of lying, right? 

“I can see that this session is not very productive.” The Therapist remarked in defeat, using all their brainpower to hide the frustration buzzing in their temples. “Perhaps we will do better on Thursday.”

Finally, the stupidly clever man showed some emotion. A smile. 

“See you Thursday.” 

And he swept out of the room without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little Moroccan definitely needs therapy. But is he going to let it be given to him? No, because he is the master of secrets, and he knows the Therapist won't keep his.


	4. Omen-01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cypher? The one with the mask and hat?” The Therapist thought with a scornful alarm that did not show. Cypher was not to be trusted, not at all. He was manipulative and churlish, masking his arrogance under a thin veil of rehearsed normalcy. But the counselor could not speak against Omen’s choices, could they? 
> 
> “Yes. He is the only trustworthy one in this organization. Even if he’s a desert rat.” The shadow waved a hand. “But his price is… high.” 

Whereas Cypher was a puzzle, Omen was a mystery. 

Flatly, the Agent stated that he’d had amnesia a couple months after joining Valorant, so the how and why of his presence were not known. But he did remember death, ripping him to shreds over, and over, and over again. Perhaps that was what made him nothing more than a blender-jarred soul. 

“Has this amnesia been stressful? Is there no one you can find to tell you about yourself?” 

He laughed darkly, looking both menacing and frail at the same time. “ _ Sabine _ refuses to tell me anything. According to Brimstone, she and I used to be coworkers at some lab in California, but he doesn’t know much more and is too afraid to ask.” 

“Sabine is…?” 

“Viper,” he nearly spat the name. The Therapist noted both this connection and the condescension with which it was uttered. “Lives, breathes, and drips with  _ poison _ .” 

Evidently there was some kind of rivalry between these two Agents. Interesting. “Now has she told you why she keeps this information from you?” 

A shake of the head. “She says that I might do something ‘rash and inconvenient.’ Whatever that might mean.” He paused, letting the information sink in. “No one else knows how I’ve lost my memory; I’m convinced she wiped it. But there’s no proof.” 

He reclined backwards in the patient chair almost as if to imply some form of surrender, lazily scraping a claw down the length of one of its arms. “I’ve tasked Cypher to find the information for me, if he can. Anything about who I once was, how I died and came back to this rotten, half-way life, and anything about Sabine relevant to me.” 

“Cypher? The one with the mask and hat?” The Therapist thought with a scornful alarm that did not show. Cypher was not to be trusted, not at all. He was manipulative and churlish, masking his arrogance under a thin veil of rehearsed normalcy. But the counselor could not speak against Omen’s choices, could they? 

“Yes. He is the only trustworthy one in this organization. Even if he’s a desert rat.” The shadow waved a hand. “But his price is… high.” 

Either he didn’t know what he was dealing with, or chose to pay no mind.

“High? How high?” 

“He will not tell me. Only after the information is collected will he decide its worth. But he is taking a suspiciously long time…” the wraith trailed off, tilting his head upwards as if lost in thought. “Which means that it is difficult, and the price will be very, very large.”

There was a pause as he thought further. “Whether it will be in money or blood, or something else entirely… I cannot say.” 

The only noises were note-taking and some magical-sounding wisps: tendrils of shadow wafted from the Radiant’s hand and into the otherwise still air. 

“That doesn’t sound very fair. To you, I mean.” The exploitation was obvious. Surely the shade could see it? 

He sighed, clenching his outstretched hand into a fist, extinguishing the dark plasma. The three electric blue slits beneath his blue hood turned to meet her now. 

“There is no such thing as fair when half the world wants you dead.” He returned bittersweetly. 

Maybe that’s what Cypher meant with his belittlement of moral ground. Survival was survival, no matter what it took to get there. Treading and weaving on both sides of the line between good and evil were all fair game if it meant death could be put off for one more day. Especially in an organization of hunted Radiants, where death and threat were constant realities. 

Perhaps the Therapist had taken the Agents’ pasts for granted. 

From there the topic switched to more mundane things. Unlike Cypher he answered honestly to the list of symptoms and other questions regarding mental health and self-care, with a mix of both yes’s and no’s. Interestingly, the shadow insisted that most of his suffering came from his half-ethereal condition and Radiant powers, and that psychotherapeutic treatment likely would have no effect on his ailments. 

“Agree that you will at least  _ try _ the techniques that I show you,” the Therapist smiled wryly. 

The shadow agreed with a concessionary sigh and departed. He had bargained for three weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you didn't think it was JUST going to be therapy, did you? 
> 
> (*deviously laughs in Conflict of Interest*)


End file.
